by Reiss, CD
So, at six, when I usually woke up, I rolled over, figuring I’d skip my workout and sleep an extra four hours.
But nah.
My brain stayed in this in-between place where I couldn’t move my body to get up and do something, but couldn’t fall asleep either. There were dreams that weren’t really dreams because I was watching them like an awake person and saying, “Yeah, that Kayla’s pretty all right,” because it was her face that was looking at me. Not saying anything. In the dream I couldn’t move. Like she’d given me a drug that paralyzed me or something. I didn’t want to move, either, because if I did, she’d go away, and my dream-self was like, no way. You stay here and look at this girl. Don’t do anything to make her split. Not a word out of your mouth.
When she rapped her knuckles on the table, I didn’t even look. She was trying to distract me. Get me to make her leave.
Rap-rap-rap.
Nope. Nope. Nope.
“Jesus Christ,” Ken said from somewhere.
Kayla’s face got drowned in light. I hadn’t moved or done anything, but I knew she was leaving. It was like someone had rolled a yellow screen between us.
“Who wears their shoes to bed?”
That was Gene. Kayla blinked out, and I got 40 percent more awake.
“How did you get in here?” I asked, eyes still closed.
“The cook let us in,” Ken said. The mattress tilted and my cheeks stung.
“Stop it.” I pushed away the hand slapping my face. I opened my eyes. Ken was sitting on the edge of the bed.
“What time is it?”
“Time to get up,” Gene said from behind me. I heard the band of his watch clink, but he still didn’t tell me the damn time. I pushed myself up. I had my own damn clock, and it was eight in the morning. Ken got off the bed and straightened his jacket.
“We’ll be on the patio.”
Chad hadn’t called. Probably crashed as soon as he got into town.
I looked out the window onto the pool and guesthouse. My agent and my PR guy were at a table by the pool letting Charlotte, my kitchen lady, serve them her mint lemonade. No one was paid enough to wait on two suits who strolled into my house uninvited.
Brushed teeth and showered bodies were for people who called before they showed up. I just put on a robe and sunglasses to go downstairs. Charlotte was in the kitchen unpacking groceries.
“Mr. Beckett,” she said, nervously. “I recognized them, so I thought it would be okay.”
“It’s cool,” I said. “Thanks for getting them something, but if you’re busy, you don’t have to.”
“I’m not busy.”
The grocery bags told another story, but what was I supposed to do? Call her a liar because she was being taken for granted?
By the time I got to the table, I was surly as a wet cat. I sat down, stretching my legs and letting my butt slide to the end of the seat so I could lean my head back.
“What?” I said. More a demand than a question.
“You went out last night?” Ken asked.
“Yeah.”
“You have a good time?”
“Yeah. Thanks for asking.”
“Dude,” Gene said. “You want to sit up and take this seriously?”
“Take what seriously? There’s no rule against me leaving the house. Which reminds me . . .” I picked my head up, as if waking. “You can call me, and I can come over there. I don’t need a nurse in a Hugo Boss suit barging in to bust my balls. And leave Charlotte alone. If you’re thirsty, look in the fridge.”
“We wanted—” Ken started, but screw him.
I sat straight, took the glasses off, and tossed them on the table.
“You can call my office right now and ask for a meeting. I’ll try and squeeze you in next week.”
There was no way I was going to be able to crawl back into bed and pick up Kayla-face where I’d left off, but damn if I wasn’t going to try. I’d just stood and gotten my back turned when Ken established why he was the most expensive handler in LA.
“You were in the Emerald Room with a girl,” he said.
My morning was screwed, but I wasn’t giving him the satisfaction of sitting back down or even turning around just yet.
“No rules against girls, dude.” He couldn’t see my face, but in the pause that followed, I couldn’t see them, either, which put me off my game.
“Can you sit, please?” Gene broke first. No surprise there. So I sat, because a guy’s gotta take the little wins to avoid the big losses.
“Get on with it,” I said. “I have shit to do.”
“The costume girl,” Ken said.
“Yeah?”
“She seems nice.”
“I’ll tell her you said so.”
“What’s going on with her?”
“She’s nice. I like nice people.”
Funny thing was, nice wasn’t a word I would have ever used for Kayla. Strong. Mouthy. Ambitious. Decent enough to bring Grandma Louise flowers. But nice? Not so much.
“Since when?” Ken asked. He had a way of seeming relaxed and intense at the same time, as if he were a dispassionate surgeon and his attention was the scalpel. I was the patient, and he was trying to cut information out of me. The question was, Did he know what he was looking for?
“What are you asking me?” If he knew about Chad, he was going to have to say it and then just accept my lie.
“She’s a regular girl, right? Safe. Not a model or an actress. Not another princess.”
“You’re boring me, Ken.”
“We think . . . ,” Gene interrupted, then swallowed the rest of the sentence under Ken’s glare and picked up his glass of lemonade.
“We think you have the right instinct,” Ken said once Gene’s mouth was occupied with drinking instead of talking. “We’ve been too focused on avoidance. Improving your brand with what you’re not doing is going to keep you working this year. But it’s not building anything. You’re being proactive, and that’s what’s going to build your career for the next twenty years.”
“I know you’re bullshitting me,” I said. “But what I can’t figure out is exactly what you think you’re bullshitting me about.”
He smiled and leaned into the conversation as if I’d opened some door he’d thought was locked.
“Your brand . . . your new brand is ‘Justin from the neighborhood,’ right? From bad boy to boy from the old neighborhood. Not a goody-two-shoes boy next door, but the guy you know who made mistakes, then grew up. The guy from high school who was trouble; then you see him at the ten-year reunion, and he’s reformed and rich as hell.”
“I’m twenty-five.”
“You’re already rich. You have three years to reform.” He moved his glass three inches, as if his big payoff needed more table space. “Reforming isn’t just about the past. It’s about the future. And nothing says future boy next door like a relatable girl next door on his arm.”
I laughed. I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t help it. Maybe it was nerves or maybe my PR guy was just plain funny.
“Have you met her?”
“No, but—”
“She curses like a fucking sailor, wears crazy-ass shoes. If you owe her money? Forget it. She will park on your lawn until you pay up. You sit her down and tell her what you just told me, and she’ll tell you exactly how far to pack that shit up your ass.”
This was supposed to scare him, but he was nodding and smiling as if this was what he wanted to hear, word for word.
“So you want what?” I asked. “You want me to date her?”
“You like her, right?”
“She’s pretty hot,” Gene said.
They wanted me to go out with Kayla to prove I was a better man. That the Roosevelt Hotel was behind me, and I was a sound brand investment for the studios and a safe role model for the kids of former fangirls.
The idea had its appeal. When I gave Chad my number, I’d pretty much let Kayla go. I hadn’t thought about it like that in the momen
t, but in retrospect I should have known I wanted to see her again and made a plan. Asked her out or something. Not just cut her loose like that.
“Is she in on this or nah?”
“What do you want?” Ken asked as if it mattered.
“I have to tell her, man. It’s not right.” I put my sunglasses on and leaned back into the sun. “And I’m pretty sure that if I don’t tell her and she finds out? She’ll cut my balls off.”
Ken rapped the tabletop and stood.
“It’s decided, then.”
“Good. Now get out.”
“One thing, though?” Ken blocked the sun, and I couldn’t see his face in the shadows. “Before you mention it to her?”
“What?”
“I’m judging her based on her job. Let my team do a little research first. Make sure she is who we think she is. Better we know now than DMZ finds out later.”
“What kind of research?”
“You know.” He shrugged as if I did.
“Google?”
“Yeah.” He passed, stopping to pat my shoulder. “Google.”
Gotta say, I was a little too pumped to try and go back to that dream.
In acting, they tell you that when you’re feeling something in real life, you should take that feeling and catalog it so you can use it in a scene. In the shower, I remembered to do that.
A little surprised at myself for not realizing I wanted her sooner.
A little relief because I made it in time.
Some hope, a future-looking feeling like excitement but lower in the chest.
Final label: Reverse Disappointment.
I shut the water and checked my phone before I even toweled off.
Still no Chad.
Okay. Whatever. I wasn’t letting that ruin the reverse of disappointment. He’d ping when he pinged, which would hopefully be after I called Kayla and she agreed to go out with me. I hadn’t been excited about seeing any particular girl in a long time, so though I was dried off when I navigated to her number, I wasn’t waiting until I was dressed.
She was on set already, so she might not pick up.
My thumb stopped before hitting her number.
If she didn’t pick up, I’d see her at work, where I’d have to look her in the eyes while I didn’t tell her Ken was googling her. Or that anyone with a brain cell would know he was doing more than a Google search. Or that the wheels were in motion, and even if I told him to hold up, he’d do what he wanted anyway?
And was I supposed to call her and not tell her I just got the rubber stamp on seeing her? That she’d gone from convenient phone-answerer to potential brand management tool?
She was never, ever going to forgive me, and I didn’t blame her.
I felt used every day, but I’d consented to at least 30 percent of it. Springing it on her later wasn’t cool. Wasn’t right. Annoying that I couldn’t do what I wanted, but this was like my dad always said—pay your debt to practice now so you have music in the bank for later.
Mom had a saying too. Patience is a virtue. For a guy who wasn’t interested in virtue, that didn’t mean anything, but for this guy, naked in the bathroom putting his phone away before dialing? It meant a lot.
I’d wait for Ken, then tell her everything.
Ken and Gene had been out of my house five minutes when Grandma texted.
—I don’t know where to put this piece—
A picture of her hand with a silver bolt in the center followed.
—Where’d it come from?—
—I’m fixing the upstairs sink—
“You mean you’re breaking it,” I muttered.
—I’ll be right there—
I didn’t know much about fixing a sink. I could probably change a tire, but I never had to. I believed in calling the right person for the right job, but ever since Grandpa died, Louise made me swear I couldn’t fix whatever it was before she’d let me call anyone who knew what they were doing.
And I couldn’t pretend to look at the shocks on her car or the dead burner on her stove. She could tell if I was phoning it in. So I had to get all the way under the sink, unscrew things, and declare the problem officially below my pay grade.
“It’s still leaking,” she said from her seat on the toilet. I was on the floor with my head under the sink and my legs sticking out of the vanity cabinet.
“Yeah,” I said, loosening something that had a name a plumber knew, but I sure didn’t. “How about now?”
“It’s worse.”
“Well, that’s all I got.” I crawled out of the cabinet. “Can I call a guy?”
“I’ll have Ned look at it.”
Ned was one of those old guys who saw something broken, rolled his sleeves up, and made for damn sure it was broken for good.
“Yeah. No.” I stood, holding my greasy hands up like a surgeon. Couldn’t use the sink. Couldn’t wipe black gunk all over the towels. “Give Ned a break. I’ll take care of it.”
I went down to the kitchen and turned the water on with my elbow. The counters were a mess of unopened mail, coupons, and magazines. The flowers Kayla had gotten for Ned’s birthday were dried out, still in a vase, sad as a kid who couldn’t go out to play.
“Weeze!” I shouted, soaping my hands.
“I’m right here.”
“Can I get someone in here to help you clean up?” I tried to sound casual as I rinsed and shook the water off.
“No. What kind of grown woman can’t clean up her own mess?”
“You. All right?” I snapped a towel off the ring. That wasn’t clean either. “Look, not for nothing, you’re busy, and look at this kitchen.”
“I don’t need servants.” Flustered, she made a stack out of a handful of mail.
“I’m not complaining, and I’m not criticizing.”
“Could have fooled me.” She took a yellow slip out of the pile and slapped it to my chest. “That’s for your accountant, Mr. Hire-A-Guy.”
When she moved her hand, the paper dropped and I caught it. Kayla’s receipt for the roses. Not strictly a business expense.
“Louise, come on. I just want you to have it easy for a change. What’s the point of having all this money if I can’t give some to you?”
She smiled up at me and patted my cheek.
“Such a nice kid.”
“Stop.”
Telling her to stop only encouraged her. She squeezed my face, and for a woman in her sixties, she had the grip of a man half her age.
“You’re good to me.”
“Mmpf.”
“But save your money for your wife and children.” She took her hand away. “Okay?”
“You win. This time.” I kissed her on the cheek. “I gotta roll.”
“Have a good day.”
“I’ll send a plumber,” I said from the doorway.
“All right.”
“Don’t unscrew anything else.”
“Go, already!”
I got in the car with the yellow slip of paper still crumpled in my hand and tossed it on the passenger seat, when I noticed it was the florist receipt. I couldn’t shake that girl. It was as if she was sitting next to me, reminding me that I could call her anytime.
Chad didn’t call all day. Didn’t text. Nothing. Zip. He’d supposedly been on the 15 from Vegas, but by the end of the day I wondered if he’d just been messing with me.
I didn’t want to bug Kayla.
I mean, no. I wanted to bug Kayla, but I didn’t. I gave Chad my number so she wouldn’t have to deal with my problems, and I told Ken I’d chill while he made sure she wasn’t going to be trouble.
The whole thing would be easier if I could stop thinking about her. I’d said she was kind of nice, but she was more than that. She was quick on the draw. She surprised me. She was an open book in another language. Touching her was like touching a girl for the first time.
She wasn’t going to be trouble. Anyone could see that. But in the time it took Ken to do whatever he was going to do, she
could decide I was the one who was trouble and walk.
That wasn’t going to work for me.
CHAPTER 9
KAYLA
I was in the trailer all day Monday tagging costumes and fitting stays for background players. Net positive on that front, because I didn’t want to deal with Justin or my inappropriate feelings for him. Sure, maybe he wasn’t half the jerk I thought he was. Maybe he actually had surprisingly deep wells of compassion and loyalty, but the fact was that guys like him didn’t want girls like me. Maybe for a kiss in a private club. Maybe a distracting week of twisted sheets and neighborhood-waking late-night screams.
Stop.
Thinking about him naked wasn’t helping, but I couldn’t help it. That half kiss had awakened a buzz in my belly I couldn’t get rid of. He made me feel like the only woman in the world. Like he understood me. Saw me. I had to remind myself that was what he did for a living. His gift was making every fan in the room sure that he was talking just to them, and I wasn’t going to be fooled by it.
The upside of my run to Club NV was that Chad now had Justin’s real number. My stint as a fake assistant was over, and I’d gotten a job out of it. Another week and this would be done. I could dedicate myself to the reason I’d left New York in the first place. At eight p.m., I was sweeping up the trailer and listing everything I had to do to make those dreams a reality. They were bigger than a costume trailer and bigger than Justin Beckett, if only I could stop thinking about him for one minute.
—Nothing?—
Justin texted as if I wouldn’t tell him if I got a call or message from Chad. As if his story hadn’t moved me to change my entire opinion about him.
—Sorry. I’m still blocked—
Then . . . nothing. I didn’t know if he’d lost interest or was being a professional, but by Wednesday I was starting to feel as though his touch in the Emerald Room had been a momentary lapse on his part. I stared at the screen for a full five minutes, waiting like a smitten teenager instead of a grown woman who had stuff to do, then put it away.
He’d moved on. Fine.
“Is everything okay?” I asked Evelyn at the craft services table on Thursday morning. She was eyeing Eddie as he left his trailer. Again. “You split on Friday.”
